


Decisions

by Jem (allonsymous)



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Broadchurch - Freeform, Dinner, Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, Hardy, Shopping, broadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 22:46:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsymous/pseuds/Jem
Summary: Alec Hardy has been invited for dinner at the Miller house, but he's having a hard time figuring out what to bring.





	Decisions

_Cabernet; merlot; pino noir; syrah; malbec... sangiovese? How the bloody hell do you pronounce that?_

Alec Hardy wasn't sure how long he'd been standing at the Wine and Spirits display on the back wall of the shop, but he was starting to feel uncomfortably out of his element. It had been quite a long while since he'd been invited to someone's house for dinner, and he seemed to remember Tess always magically pulling a bottle of wine out of some hidden fold in her coat and offering it as some sort of customary thank you. But he wasn't much of a wine drinker, and he never bought wine. He'd drink it socially—when he was being social—but he generally gravitated more towards hard liquors.

Still, he'd stopped drinking a long time ago. And now here he was, trying to remember how to be a halfway decent human being for once. It actually made him a little anxious, which irked him. But he'd never seen Tess offer any sort of wine alternative, and he didn't want to show up empty handed. He scratched the back of his neck and glanced to either side before returning his attention to the endless rows of wine bottles, all lined up like some daft little glass forest. Of course, if he brought wine, he'd be expected to drink it. He didn't even like wine for god's sake, nevermind the health risks. He hadn't had so much as a sip of alcohol in over a year. What the hell would that do to him?

This was a terrible idea. He turned on his heal with a sigh, tension building in his shoulders as he walked away from the spirits and veered towards the candy section. Women usually liked chocolate, he seemed to recall. Maybe that was a reasonable option.

It was almost as bad as the wine. Row upon row of chocolates in all different sorts of packaging—plastic, foil, paper, tins... And endless branding, too. He had no idea what Miller liked. Best get something simple. No nuts. She might not like nuts, or she could be allergic. He tried to think of a time when he'd seen her eating candies at her desk at work, but couldn't bring anything to mind. What if she didn't have much of a sweet tooth? Bloody hell.

He randomly plucked a blue paper box from the shelf. It was expensive as hell. That probably meant it was good. He began walking towards the front of the shop, but halfway there he abruptly turned around and headed toward the back wall again. Chocolates? Really? He wasn't some bloody teenager trying to get a girl's attention. Miller would probably want the wine, so he should just get the bloody wine. One glass couldn't hurt. And it's not like he'd have to finish it.

Taking the candy aisle route, he put the chocolates back on the shelf, then glanced at his watch, realizing he was going to be late if he didn't hurry. He picked up the pace, threading through the aisle and down along the back wall until he was confronted by the glass bottle forest once again. Bollocks, why were there so many? Frowning in irritation, he snatched a bottle with a reasonably high—but not too high—price tag. Pinot noir. He nodded faintly to himself. Decision made. Time to go.

He got stuck in the queue behind a tiny old woman in possession of a stack of coupons as thick as a pencil. _For god's sake._ He shuffled his feet with a sigh, glancing down at the bottle in his hand in an effort to distract himself. He turned it over to read the description on the back. It was the usual pretentious spiel. Fruity, acidic, low tannins... pairs well with chocolate.

Alec glanced up. The checker was still scanning through the unimaginable stack of coupons and chatting up the old lady. Decision made. Again. He turned and walked back to the candy aisle, plucking the attractive blue box from the shelf and heading back up front. Another register was just opening up, and he hurried over, setting down his items for the cashier to scan them. As he was reaching into his wallet, he caught sight of a rack of paper-wrapped bouquets parked at the end of the counter. He paused mid riffle, looking from the checker to the bouquets, and back to the checker again.

“How much for the flowers?”


End file.
